The Haunting of Harriet Page 16

  When the phone rang and Edward explained he would not be home that night, Liz was prepared for outright war. Just as she was about to let rip, a sudden pain gripped her arm, forcing her to drop the phone and send it crashing to the floor with a resounding bang. As she cradled her arm she could hear Edward calling to her from the floor.

  “Liz, what’s happened? Are you all right?” She bent to pick up the phone. Her eyes filled with tears and she fumbled with the wretched machine, almost dropping it again.

  Harriet was stroking her arm where she had pinched it, trying to calm Liz down before she said something she might regret. “Sorry, Liz. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to stop you doing anything rash. Give him the benefit of the doubt.” She was pleading for clemency thinking of the innocent children and hating herself for defending such a man.

  Edward was in bed with the beautiful Sophie when he heard the crash, followed by a long silence. “What’s happened? God, Liz, speak to me!” His concern was genuine and as guilt swept over him so remorse flooded over her. She gathered herself and the telephone together. His voice was telling her he was coming home, now, immediately. She must not worry, he would be home soon. He was panicking and scared.

  “Sorry. I dropped the phone.” Her words were cool and distant and as soon as she said them the magic melted.

  “Christ, Liz, I thought you’d died or something. I didn’t know you could be so cruel. How long does it take to pick up an effing telephone? Anyway, in case you’re bothered I shan’t be home tonight so don’t wait up. Not that you ever do. Say goodnight to the kids.” He hung up abruptly, leaving Liz feeling as if she too had been hung on a hook.

  Liz stood in the hall, speechless and seething with anger. She inspected her arm; although sore it seemed perfectly all right. As she straightened up, her eyes fell on the very first painting she had done. It was of the boathouse. She remembered how she had felt on first seeing this house. Now it was her home. She remembered Edward’s immediate reaction to the house. He had hated it. Yet he had not tried to talk her out of it. He had simply bought it and given it to her with his love. Where had that love gone? Harriet’s heart wept for Liz but all she could do was suggest they have a nice cup of tea.

  What neither Harriet nor Edward knew was that Liz had been gathering evidence. She had been sorting his jackets for the dry cleaners when she found exactly what she was hoping not to find. It was a receipt for a diamond pendant on a gold chain. Liz already had one of a considerably superior quality. She therefore deduced that this trinket was not meant for her. There were no credit-card accounts to be found anywhere in his study, which was in itself suspicious. Edward was not the tidiest or most organized of men so their absence suggested a deliberate act of concealment. Feeling horribly devious, she phoned the number on the receipt. Posing as Mr Jessop’s personal assistant she apologized for the inconvenience, but explained that she had lost the originals and would be grateful if they could send her copies to cover the last six months.

  The next day several incriminating documents arrived. She was mortified. Edward was either an extremely generous boss or he had another woman. That evening she waited nervously for him to come home. She had thought hard and long about her approach and had decided to play it cool, to give him the benefit of the doubt and let him explain what was really going on. In fact she had already tried him, found him guilty and wanted to watch him wriggle on the hook and see how he liked it. The moment he closed the door behind him Liz pounced.

  “I know, Edward.” She aimed the words like daggers.

  Edward held his arms wide as he raised his shoulders in a gesture of blamelessness. “Know what?”

  “About your affair,” Liz spat out the bitter-tasting words.

  Edward laughed a bit too loudly. He put down his briefcase, hoping he appeared calm, an innocent victim. He needed to turn the argument to his advantage before it went any further.

  “Can I get through the door first? Can I pour myself a drink? Do you want one? Oh, I see you’re ahead of me there.” He threw his jacket on the back of the chair, poured a large Scotch and sat down heavily at the table. There was no sign of dinner and the atmosphere was hostile.

  “So where is all this coming from? I have no idea what you are on about.”

  “I know you are screwing someone else.”

  “Come off it, sweetheart, when do I have time to have an affair? I’m working my effing balls off!” As he said it he knew this was not the best approach.

  “Oh, I know!” Liz replied with a coldness of tone he had never heard before. “Who is she, this ball-breaking tart? Anyone I know? Should I put her on my Christmas card list, or is she already on it? Now there’s a thought.”

  It was too late for tactics; the slanging match was on. For an hour they slogged it out, playing a rapid point-scoring, hard-hitting tournament of emotional squash. She called him an ageing Lothario; an absentee parent who cared more about cricket than his children. What sort of father didn’t even know his children’s favourite food, or which books and films they like best? Liz was accused of being a parasite, contributing nothing while living a dilettante lifestyle, watching him wear himself out in the cut-and-thrust of the financial world. He called her empty-headed with no idea how tough it was to earn the sort of money he brought home. She retaliated that he had not a clue how much effort it took to manage and maintain a house of this size to the standards he demanded, raising two small children into the bargain, children he did not deserve.

  Edward had been leaning back, balancing his chair on its back legs, his arms behind his head, trying to appear calm and in control, an infuriatingly smug smile on his face throughout the row while Liz had been pacing up and down, opening and slamming drawers with frustration. Suddenly, he sprang up. His chair crashed forwards as he slammed his fist on the table. “Right, that’s it,” he shouted, then quietly he added: “I’m going to bed. We shall discuss this tomorrow, when your hormones aren’t so rampantly out of control.”

  While he spoke Liz was rummaging in her bag trying to find the evidence. Triumphantly she threw the receipt on the table in front of him. She even smoothed it out for him to read. Then she screamed at him, “Hormones! I’ll give you hormones - a thousand pounds’ worth of bloody hormones.” She stood up tall as Edward sank back in his chair. His mind was racing. How the hell had she got hold of this? His face wore a mask of innocence as he spoke:

  “Is this what all this has been about?” He waved his arm as he looked around indicating the row that was still hovering in the room. He moved towards Liz, the receipt in his hand. She backed away. “This was meant to be a surprise,” he said, waving the paper in her face.

  “Oh, it was that all right!” Liz was seething. Let him try and talk his way out of this one.

  “In case it has slipped your mind, there is a certain day coming up - sometime in February - the fourteenth, I think? Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that Valentine’s day?” He paused. “Ring any bells yet? It’s something to do with love…” He looked horribly smug and his voice had an ugly sound to it. “I stupidly thought it might be nice to buy something special for my wife - my beautiful, tolerant wife - as a small thank-you for being so understanding. But if you don’t want it,“ he looked at Liz in a supercilious, patronizing way, waiting for her to capitulate.

  Icily Liz snatched back the receipt and placed it in her bag. She looked hard at Edward. She wanted to believe him but could not. He had hurt her; the things he had said had been so cruel. They had both said things that could never be unsaid. Words had crashed into the very walls of the house, to stay there as lasting stains and scars. Her brain was spinning and she felt her body ache from tension. It was way past midnight. She needed sleep; time to re-focus. Realizing the danger of saying more while she was so angry she simply said,

  “You’re right. I am over-tired. I need to sleep. It’s best left until morning. Tomorrow is another day and we have the whole weekend to discuss this.” As she left the room
she looked over her shoulder to where her husband was sitting and added: “You’ll find sheets for the green room in the airing cupboard. Try not to leave it in a mess. Oh, the other receipts are on the sideboard. I look forward to hearing how you explain those. Good night.”

  It hung in the night air, unresolved and threatening. Liz hardly slept. She tried to imagine always lying in a bed with a duvet to herself and an empty space beside her. The thought filled her with horror. She had started something that had to be seen through, and it tasted bitter.

  CHAPTER 13

  It was with considerable resentment that Liz found herself planning Edward’s fortieth birthday celebrations. No one really wanted to come to the party except the twins. Even the sun declined the offer. All morning it rained and it rained even harder all afternoon. The guests arrived at seven, damp and unenthusiastic. It was a small affair: the remnants of the Circus, a few mates from Edward’s office and the next-door neighbours. The dreadful weather cast a dark cloud over an already gloomy occasion. Liz supplied a splendid buffet and the wine flowed freely, but the mix of people was not quite right for the party to gel. The children sensed the brittle atmosphere and wisely took themselves off to the attic as soon as they could. In fact after the meal everyone split, some to watch a video and some to play cards. Mel agreed to give a Tarot reading to Liz’s neighbour and was settling herself opposite the rather large woman at the occasional table between the two long windows facing the lake. Her heart was not in the cards and she looked around for inspiration. Desperate to focus her drifting thoughts, she found herself gazing at the window, tracing the patterns of the raindrops that ran down the glass. When she looked through the glass she caught sight of a couple heading across the lawn.

  It was Edward with another woman. Mel scanned the room. There was one noticeable absence in the shapely form of Edward’s personal assistant. It was her struggling across the wet grass in four-inch heels, balancing a large golf umbrella. In spite of the heavy rain the couple were heading down the garden towards the bridge. Sophie, the sexy PA, had appeared for the first time that evening and Mel’s psychic antenna had picked up danger signals. There was an insincere niceness about the creature, something unhealthy about the way she looked at Edward; she seldom took her eyes off him, which did little to allay Mel’s suspicious thoughts. Mel’s concentration was broken, having been diverted by shadowy figures outside. Making an excuse to the neighbour, she checked the room to establish Liz’s whereabouts and was relieved to find her engrossed in a game of poker and likely to be occupied for some time.

  Mel slipped on Liz’s gumboots and grabbed a Barbour from the back door. Making sure she was not being watched, she followed the escapees. They had covered the last few yards in record time and were already at the door of the boathouse as Mel positioned herself behind the willow. They were holding hands and giggling and presumably kissing behind the brolly. The girl slipped inside. Edward cast a furtive eye around, followed her and closed the door. It was straight out of a Noel Coward play and Mel was not sure whether to laugh or puke. Instead she crossed the bridge and crept to the far side of the building.

  The only light came from the moon and a few timid solar lamps scattered around the jetty. She welcomed the cover of the deep shadow. The sight that greeted her as she peered in through the window was predictable. The couple were embracing passionately. There was no doubt that this was not the first time those lips had met and there was every sign that they knew exactly where their actions were heading. As she had no wish to play the voyeur and had already seen far more than she wanted to she tried to devise a possible plan of action. Determined to spoil their fun, she was assessing her best means of attack when she inadvertently collided with an extremely large terracotta pot. Instinct made her grab the main stem of the camellia it contained and she managed to steady it, before restoring it to its secure resting place on the decking, miraculously preventing the almighty crash that would surely have given her away. She wanted to catch them in the act. She intended to shame them. Inevitably the lovers were too preoccupied with one another to notice the muffled sounds outside.

  Mel patted the shaken plant and steadied herself, patting her own trembling legs. It was then that she caught sight of Jenny running from the house towards the stream. There was no mistaking those long athletic legs that were carrying her with increasing speed towards the scene of the crime. Mel had to act quickly. Her brain was racing unproductively when she heard Liz’s voice calling to her daughter. The voice came from the house and as quickly as she had appeared Jenny stopped, turned and ran back. Mel sent up a prayer of thanks to her guardian angel. Another second and the poor child would have witnessed the whole sordid thing. The idea of bursting in on Edward and his “bit of stuff” was one thing, but she had no wish to involve Jenny. Time was short. Direct action was needed before the culprits could prepare their defence. Throwing open the door of the boathouse, she walked calmly over to the table and picked up a book that was lying there. She turned, said good evening to the somewhat dishevelled couple and simply walked out, taking care to leave the door wide open behind her.

  Later, out of earshot of Liz or the others, Edward accosted Mel. “It isn’t what you think. It’s all perfectly innocent. For Christ sake, don’t tell Liz. Can we keep this between the two of us? Please, Mel, I’m begging you. I really love Liz. It would destroy her. You know that. Please don’t tell her.” Mel’s look was enough to let Edward know what she thought of him. She was tempted to keep him dangling, let him suffer.

  Eventually she said, “You pathetic bastard, of course I won’t tell her. But if you ever hurt Liz or those kids I’ll kill you.”

  “OK. Message received.” As he spoke Edward doubled over, clutching his stomach.

  Harriet could no longer restrain herself. She punched him hard in the solar plexus and felt much better for it. She had of course played her own part in the drama. She knew that Jenny’s book was in the boathouse and that at some point she would want to retrieve it. She too had seen the guilty couple slip away in the dark and she was determined to put an end to any shenanigans that could jeopardize her family’s happiness. She had been racking her brains to find a way to expose the couple, but everything she came up with involved the rest of the guests or the family finding out. She did not want to see Liz humiliated and especially did not want to confront Jenny with her father’s infidelity. It was that stupid woman tripping over the pot that gave Harriet the idea. She had called Jenny back to the house. As for that psychic, she had proved herself quite useful after all. Maybe she was not all bad. Harriet decided to reserve judgment.

  The confrontation between Mel and Edward was cut short by Jenny grabbing Mel around the waist. “Oh, great, you found my book. Where was it? I searched everywhere.”

  “It was in the boathouse.” Mel was drying her hair on the kitchen towel and praying that Jenny had not over heard her conversation with Edward.

  “I knew that’s where I’d left it. I ran all the way down there in the rain, but Mummy called me back, saying she’d got it, then a few minutes later denied all knowledge of it. Can you believe that? She’s getting old, you know. How old do you have to be to get Alzheimer’s? Are you all right, Dad? You look as if someone punched you in the guts!”

  Jenny gave Mel a kiss and took the book from her. Mel stood for a while watching the girl attack the stairs two at a time. She was growing up fast, turning into an amazing young woman. Jenny paused on the landing to smile back and Mel saw her as a grown woman, centre-stage surrounded by thunderous applause, a standing ovation. It was La Scala, The Met, Covent Garden…. Mel’s vision ended abruptly, stopped by someone patting her on the back. When she turned around the hall was empty. Maybe she is a bit psychic after all, thought Harriet,

  The party was over and the last of the guests had gone. The final dregs of clearing up were almost done. Throwing her tea towel onto the draining-board Liz looked at her husband in the stainless-steely light of the kitchen. His once luxurious br
own hair was greying at the temples. It was noticeably thinner and had begun to recede. Liz studied the face. Tell-tale signs of crow’s feet where his blue eyes had narrowed against the sun were already quite pronounced. He looked tired and strained. She could have got it horribly wrong. She did tend to jump to conclusions. There was so much at stake here. Would it be so difficult to draw a line under it all and chalk it up to mid-life crisis? As soon as she resolved to be magnanimous she felt a surge of relief, as though she were purged. Was this how saints felt when they forgave sinners? Things took on a different perspective for her, one that would let them move on together, which was what she wanted more than any of the other hideous alternatives.

  This was the man she loved, whom she had vowed to spend her life standing beside, for better or worse. If this was the worst, it was not that bad. Was she greedy to want more? How could she have been so horrible to him? She kissed him and he pulled away. When he kissed her back it was just a peck.

  “You made me jump. Sorry, Liz.”

  She wondered if he shared her thoughts. They were still capable of being happy, weren’t they? Did he still love her?

  “That was a lovely evening, wasn’t it? There was a fantastic sunset, did you see it? Don’t you love the way the sun goes to sleep each night? Mummy used to say it was so that he’d wake up refreshed and ready to fill tomorrow with sunshine.”

  “God, Liz, you do talk crap sometimes. It’s just a star; a spectral-type G star, that’s a yellow one, if you really want to know. It can’t make decisions.”

  Liz sighed and took her own face in her hands. “I’m getting old, aren’t I?”